


Decisions are Made in the Distant Past

by Welfycat



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welfycat/pseuds/Welfycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a half kind of life, working for Rossum and living in the Dollhouse, and that's just the actives that Topher programs. Topher's life, his thoughts, his abilities, and his very existence have all been building to this one moment. He doesn't know how to stop the chain of events that he's unwittingly triggered, he doesn't think that it's even possible.<br/>But, maybe he can take himself out of the equation and still get something that he wants in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decisions are Made in the Distant Past

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Jossverse Big Bang 2011  
> Content Notes: Dark themes (on par with the show), Semi-Suicidal Ideation  
> Thanks so much to my beta, emeraldsnakes.  
> The banner was created by skylar0grace, you can see the rest of the amazing artwork she made for this story at [her journal.](http://skylar0grace.livejournal.com/84605.html).

  


  


Banner by skylar0grace

Topher spends a lot of time in the room with the chair. In reality, he should have a better name for it. A name that would differentiate it from all the other chairs that were out there. 'Chair' seemed far too innocent and harmless when weighted against the _thing_ he'd created. In reality, it does have a better name, one he came up with so long ago when naming things was important. It doesn't matter so much now; Topher has simply thought of it as 'The Chair' for so long that it has become that now.

If he could do it again, which he's spent more and more time thinking about lately, he wouldn't make it a chair. Especially not a chair that was so reminiscent of a chair that could be found in a dentist's office. If Topher stopped to really think about it, which he wouldn't, he would question why he had chosen something that was a personal symbol of fear to be the culmination of his work. But, if he could start the whole thing over again, maybe he would have made it some kind of alcove like the Borg in Star Trek. Not that the Borg weren't also scary, but they were a pretend monster, not like dentists.

He runs his hands over the arms of the chair, remembering how he had placed person after person in the chair and they had come out not people. Maybe that was a fairly unsophisticated way of looking at it, because in someways the actives were more 'people' than most people he had ever met. Topher blinks again, thinking of the things that he's done that had never been done before, things that most people still wouldn't dream possible. Oddly enough, the whole people and personalities transplanting gig didn't even make the list. But he's mapped the human mind, changed the face of psychology (or he would have if anyone had known) and made an entirely new vision of how a person was a person, and how that 'person' wasn't any more attached to a physical body than any of them were to a set of clothes. All of that meant far more than Rossum's little pet project ever would, though Topher can fully admit, to himself at least, that he'd allowed his curiosity and desire to find real data in his theories to be manipulated into something that was maybe a little broken. He likes to pretend they were helping people, fixing people. Adelle likes to sell that line too, although Topher can see how she was just as much a puppet on a string as he was.

Now Topher can see the strings, see how Rossum's hand gave a tiny motion, barely more than a twitch, and an entire Dollhouse would leap into actions that made no sense when looking at them from ground level. But Topher had climbed the beanstalk, up into the sky where Rossum lived, and saw the patterns in the waves of numbers, saw causalities and futures and maybe even destiny. He'd been as careful as he'd ever been when hacking a system, he knew that hacking Rossum was trickier and deadlier than hacking the FBI, the CIA, and rest of the world governments combined. That didn't mean Topher couldn't do it, and he had done it, it just meant that he wound up wishing he hadn't. The drive to know and understand, the same one that had lead to his part in developing the technology that made the Dollhouses into a reality, left him reeling when he saw the bigger picture.

Setting up the program had been really too simple, and no one thought anything of him sitting around in the room with The Chair tinkering. This is, with the possible exception of agreeing to work for Rossum to begin with, probably most irreparable decision he's ever made. He wants to tell himself that he's doing it to take himself out of the game plan, that without his intelligence and expertise Rossum won't be able to take the next step in their plan, that he's mission essential, but that's all a lie. He's already taken the necessary steps for them, put together the missing pieces they needed, and he's seen some of the minds in the other Dollhouses - literally seen their minds over the network - and it's already too late. Maybe without him it will take them longer, a few months, maybe even a year, but the damage is done.

The truth of it is this is something that Topher wants for himself, something that he suspects he's been wanting to do since he first installed the data ports on the chair but has only just allowed himself to contemplate. The last time he did something for himself was take the research grant that Rossum had offered Topher right out of his Master's program. He really didn't imagine that this would turn out any better in the long run, but this way he wouldn't really be around to see it. And, just maybe, he'd have something for himself for a little while.

Topher runs his hands across the arms of the chair again before moving to sit on the very edge, testing it out. Everything is set up, all he has to do is slide back and press the button. Maybe it's more than he deserves, more compassionate and kind, but he's had his sight set on this for too long to give it up now.

*****

Six Months Earlier

Watching is something that Topher has always been very adept at. Most of what he's learned has been by sitting back and waiting for all the pieces to come together, which is why within the first fifteen minutes of a procedural crime show he can tell you who the bad guy is; except for when the show cheats by not showing them until the end of the show. He really hates the shows that cheat, and would have written them angry letters if he didn't get distracted by something more important five minutes after the show ended. But then, the few episodes that the show cheats on are the only episodes he watches all the way through, so maybe he doesn't write the angry letters because it gives him a chance to practice working without all the information.

A week ago, Echo had come up to his lab while he was watching one of the CSIs, had watched with him for a few minutes before placing one of her fingers on the computer screen. She'd pegged the bad guy pretty much at the same time that Topher had figured it out. When he asked her how she'd known, she'd tipped her head to the side and said that he moved his eyes wrong. When Topher didn't respond right away, she asked if she'd done it wrong, if she had the wrong answer. Topher had told her that she did it exactly right and walked her back down to the sleeping pods, making a mental note to check the mechanisms and the chemical balance. If the handlers knew the actives were out in the night, well, consequences from Rossum were something all Rossum employees avoided at any cost. When Topher got back to his lab he clicked back to where they'd interviewed the bad guy and watched the way the man moved his gaze and angled his body slightly away from the detectives.

Watching from one of the windows looking out over the main floor of the dollhouse is how Topher first notices the actives grouping. Not all of them, not even most, but Echo, Sierra and Victor seem to be slightly more aware than the others. It isn't much, not enough to put in a report or even make a note of; anyone else watching wouldn't see the same thing. But Topher sees how the majority of the time they sit near each other, or two of them will join in the same activity, or how Echo will seek Sierra and Victor out almost as if she's checking on them. When one of them is out for an engagement, the other two are aware of the absence and tend to stick closer than ever. When Victor comes back with bruises on his face from being loaned out as a private investigator, Sierra sits next to him and spends a full five minutes brushing her fingertips over his face. Shortly after that, Topher called Sierra up to get an imprint and go out, because he has a pretty good idea that if Sierra stays she's not going to be able to keep her hands to herself, and that's something that the handlers will notice.

The three of them, the odd little triad they've somehow managed to create, fascinates Topher. It's almost like they remind him of something, except that's impossible because he's never seen anything like it before. He's started to group them on engagements more and more often, his curiosity at how deep the bonds between the three lie outweighing any more sensible thoughts he might have had about the possible dangers. In theory, if the bond translates beyond imprinting, there was the potential for some very interesting applications. Topher rationalized that if his less than random assignments of actives came to light he would simply explain that it was in Rossum's best interest that they know this type of thing about how the actives work. Everything they did was always with the interests of Rossum in mind.

In the evenings, when he simply sat and watched, he could almost admit to himself that it wasn't just the practical applications that he was interested in, nor the scientific. Watching them had led to a very strange fascination that he hadn't had since he'd been a very young child. He watches how they decide when to sit together and when not, depending on who is watching and who is in the area immediately around them. He watches how they look at each from across the room when they think they have a safe moment.

And mostly, he watches how they touch each other. Small, inconsequential touches to anyone else, but they were there everyday. Who reached out varied from time to time; at first it was mostly Echo, who would set her hand on Victor or Sierra's arm in passing, her hand clenching slightly even when they didn't look at each other. After a while, Sierra did it as well, though she usually brushed her fingers against Victor's face or leaned her shoulder up against Echo in a doorway. Victor was slightly stealthier, though he had the tendency to want to hold hands with Sierra.

It's cute, in its own special way, though Topher knows that is what will get them caught faster than anything. In fact, Topher is surprised that no one else has noticed by now. Well, surprised in the same way he always is that people don't see things like he does or don't understand things in the same way. It had taken him years to really get that he was different, that his mind worked differently. The temptation to hop in the chair, just to see what his own mind looked like when it had been peeled away from his body, had come to him more than once. But, he always had to remind himself that if he was an active, even if they just reimprinted him with his own mind, he would never be the same again. He would never work the same. And that was typically enough to dispel the idea from his mind.

All of those little touches that Echo, Sierra, and Victor exchanged on a regular basis were important, possible one of the most important things that Topher had ever seen and he still couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because he couldn't remember the last time he'd been close enough to someone that casual touches were both acceptable and routine. He didn't think he could ever remember having the kind of relationship for another human being that would allow for him to reach out and touch their hand or arm, let alone that person feeling compelled to touch him back. And yet these three actives somehow had that connection when they were supposed to just be shells. Empty vessels waiting to be filled with whatever he pressed into them.

It's a problem, Topher decides as he gets to his feet. He's been watching them for nearly an hour now and it's almost time for all good actives to be in their sleeping pods. Topher has considered climbing into a sleeping pod before too, trying to get some real rest. Let his mind succumb to the drug cocktail that kept all of the actives subdued and resting in the night. He brushes the thought aside the same way he does the idea of getting into the chair, intent on throwing himself into some big project that he hasn't thought up yet. Something that will keep him busy enough to be away from the actives for a few days, just to clear his mind.

*****

Topher is very aware that Boyd knows something is up. It's one of those watching things again, and Boyd is one of those people that Topher can nearly see the thoughts form and the connections made. Boyd doesn't know what it is that he knows, not yet. But the way that Boyd stands and the edge of the balcony and watches, first just Echo but then the others as well, tells Topher that he does know. Topher figures that it will be one of those things that just hits Boyd one night, maybe one night when Boyd is lying in bed wide awake. The thought will come from seemingly no where; out of the blue as they said. But really, somewhere in the back of Boyd's mind his intellect will have been chewing over the problem and trying to make all the connections, maybe for months. At least, that's how it works for Topher. For all the work he does with others minds and brains, how other people - 'normal' people - think is still somewhat of a mystery to him.

Boyd is paused at the edge of the balcony; he never stays long enough for anyone but Topher to notice, but long enough to fix his eyes on whoever he's seeking. It's that gaze that unnerves Topher the most about Boyd. Not the potential for violence, he's always know that most of the people around him can inflict violence with nothing more than a momentary base urge. Around Rossum, it's not the muscle that's scary, it's the brain. And around the LA Dollhouse, Topher is the 'head' honcho, or at least the one with the know how to at least appear scary when the situation requires it. But, Boyd's gaze always seems to say that he knows so much more than he's saying, that he's what Topher has always referred to as a cataloguer.

It was when Topher first realized that everyone didn't think like he did that he started to try and figure out how other people saw things and what they did with information. Ironically, it wasn't until later that he realized that most people didn't do that either, not unless they were doing work at a university. Cataloguers were always one of the groups Topher was most cautious of, they were among the most unpredictable once they reached a certain point. They'd gather information, watching and taking in everything around them without making a decision or doing anything that would give away their next step, or even when they'd act. Then they'd snap into motion, one second standing perfectly still just the way Boyd did when he was at the balcony, the next a flurry of muscles and movement.

When Boyd looked at Topher it felt like Boyd knew everything, like he was staring straight through his eyes and into Topher's mind. He knew it was only his own paranoia talking, and who wouldn't be paranoid when he tracked down Rossum spies in the house and only told Adelle about them when he knew it would suit her needs and when he frequently sent false feeds from the cameras in the labs and the dollhouse to the man upstairs, cameras he wasn't supposed to know existed. But, despite the warranted paranoia, Topher still wanted to ask Boyd what he saw when he looked into an active's eyes. Was it emptiness? The blank slate that Topher had tried so hard to find under all of the mess that made up a mind? Topher didn't think so, not really. Even though all of his sensors and brain scanners and gadgets that he didn't even have names for showed that there was virtually nothing left, Topher knew better. He didn't have any proof to back it up, but he was pretty sure that there would always be something left.

Boyd continues down the staircase, down onto the dollhouse floor where Echo is standing, looking lost. He'd paused for less than a minute, and when Topher looks at his watch he sees that it was less than fifteen seconds - just under the length of time it would take for a camera to cycle to him. Topher walks forward and takes Boyd's place, not caring if someone saw him watching even though Boyd obviously did. Echo was still standing, though by the way she turned her left foot in the direction of the stairs she was aware of Boyd's presence. It was only a very slight turn but enough that it set Echo a single movement away from dropping into a fighting stance. Topher makes a note of this, how Echo should be barely aware of Boyd's presence at all, and even then he shouldn't register as a threat. Part of Topher doesn't even want to try and change this, whatever protection the active's stripped minds have left seems to be a hard won victory that he should leave alone out of simple respect for the sanctity of the mind. But then, if he ever had that, he wouldn't be standing where he was. Besides, Echo needs to be able to trust her handler in the field; even if he was working with Rossum, who couldn't even be mentioned in the same sentence as trust, it was better than leaving an active out in the world alone. Topher wanders back into his lab, his mind already dissecting the problem and his fingers already pulling up Echo's latest scan.

*****

Somehow, somewhere in the past few months, Topher has become more attached to the actives than he has ever been to a 'real' person. He knows that this probably says more about him than he's ever revealed to a therapist, but he's not sure he can bring himself to care. At first he thought it was just a side effect of being a caretaker. He was responsible for the actives, almost like a parent maybe. Or one of those uncles that was a lot of fun to be around but mom didn't like him hanging around the house because he wasn't quite 'right'. But, after a little while he realized that it wasn't all of the actives he felt this way for, just Echo and her group. He does care for all of them, but he's become invested. It's like these actives know him, they recognize him, and it feels like the first time that's really happened too.

Part of him is pretty sure that he's just reading into things, that he's projecting a connection onto 'people' who can't refute it, but part of him thinks that what he's seeing is real. And that part is so attractive and so powerful that he lets himself find more evidence for it every day. So, when Victor stops before getting in the chair and asks him a question, most of the time something that doesn't make any sense whatsoever, Topher answers as well as he can and smiles. Victor smiles back with that ridiculous enthusiasm and puppy dog earnestness and Topher feels something. And when Sierra reaches out to give him a high five, a gesture it only took him once to teach her - even though it should have been wiped from her mind weeks ago - he gives her a careful high five back and thinks of the mentor he had in elementary school who used to high five him like that or give him a pat on the back after a rough day.

And Echo, because it's always Echo who finds her way into places she shouldn't be, comes up into Topher's lab in the night despite Topher checking the controls in her sleeping pod over and over again. They sit, sometimes watching something on the computer but most of the time Topher just sits back and watches her explore. She almost never asks the same question twice, and never examines the same piece of equipment again even though she's wiped almost every few days. Topher doesn't ask what she remembers, because obviously some part of her active state is recalling things that she shouldn't have access to.

If he had to guess, and his guesses were usually pretty spot on, he'd say that Echo's active state was forming a personality and a being all of its own. Which just shouldn't even be possible, after all that Topher had gone through to make sure there was nothing left but the active state. In the very early stages, when they'd removed too much from the actives, it had just been creepy. Actually, it had been an absolute disaster that had left Topher feeling like the one time he'd gone to the animal shelter as a kid when he figured he should be able to buy a cat all by himself. He knew he probably shouldn't compare the lifeless and limp bodies of humans to those of the animals that he'd seen, but it had felt the same. A type of numb horror, sick and overwhelming. He never wanted to make a mistake like that again, but sometimes when he directed a person into the chair for a first time and removed their core personality and downloaded it onto a wedge, he felt like he was repeating the same mistakes all over again.

With all of that considered, Topher was almost glad that there was definitely some 'Echo' left in her, maybe even some of her original personality left over. It made him feel less like he was destroying her when he guided her into the chair, though it didn't ease the gnawing sensation he was starting to identify as guilt when she watched him as he flipped the switch that would change who she was entirely. Only once or twice had Topher seen a flicker of Echo while she was imprinted. It worried him, because while Echo was in her active state she knew to hide how much she knew and how much she saw, and most of all, how much she was. But when it was only flickers coming through, tiny slips and cracks, anyone watching could see. Boyd had looked to Topher a few times, and had once told him that he'd seen Echo make a brief appearance. Topher had lied, keeping his face firmly focused on his computer screen and away from Boyd because he knew that lying was not a skill he possessed, and told him that it was because Boyd was her handler. She would recognize him no matter what imprint she held. The problem was rapidly becoming that Echo was starting to recognize Topher as well, even while imprinted, and that was something that he had no explanation for.

It's not the same with the others though, Victor and Sierra who can identify Topher when they're active but not when they're imprinted, seem to disappear entirely when Topher places them in the chair. He feels the guilt even more strongly with them, that he's sending them out to fulfill a fantasy for someone who has no idea that there is a maybe a person inside the shell that Topher's wrapped up so neatly for them. He's starting to wonder how much they're maybe retaining from their engagements, that maybe, somewhere in a corner of their minds that he can't see, it's all building up.

Deep down, mixed with the thoughts that he only lets himself think at three in the morning when he's very wide awake, he knows that all of this, Rossum, the imprints, his job as a whole, is bordering on the edge of horrible and unforgivable, and all sorts of other awful things that Topher's dad warned him he'd become.

*****

Boyd is guiding Echo, one hand resting on her back as he leads her into the room. She's more skittish than usual, her eyes flickering around the room as she looks at everything with suspicion before pressing back against Boyd's hand. It takes Topher a moment to remember what he imprinted her with, or rather, who he imprinted over her. Even though she's currently supposed to be a shy yet curious freshman college student - Topher didn't even ask anymore when he received requests for specific imprints, and he just passed most of the romantic engagements off to Ivy to program - there's still Echo somewhere beneath the thick level of fear that's almost coming off her in waves.

"Echo, would you like a treatment?" Boyd asks, seemingly not for the first time.

Echo pauses before she turns and looks up at Boyd. "Is it time for my treatment?" she asks, and there's a hint of relief in the question.

"Yes, it's time for a treatment," Boyd repeats, gently giving Echo a nudge to get her walking again. "Right over here."

Topher frowns as he watches Boyd wrangle Echo to the chair, her movements stiff and awkward. It takes several tries before Boyd is able to get Echo to lay still for long enough for Topher to active the chair and start the wipe. Her body arches slightly as the memories are pulled from her mind and Topher looks away, finding Boyd still standing nearby with his face set in a deep frown.

"Rough engagement?" Topher asks after a moment, not really sure if he wants to know the answer.

"Something like that," Boyd answers. He moves his gaze to Topher for a moment, staring with such a sharp intensity that Topher takes an instinctive step back. "She won't be seeing that client again."

"Client lists aren't within my purview..." Topher is about to launch into his speech about how if a handler needs a client stricken from the list they need to go through Adelle and if the client isn't someone who Rossum is attached to that can probably be arranged, but stops when he sees how Boyd has refocused his attention on Echo. "Right, she's not seeing that client again."

"In that case, this imprint doesn't need to be used again and it can be destroyed. Completely," Boyd continues as if Topher hadn't spoken.

"It's policy that we keep all of the imprints..." Again Topher is speaking without thinking first, but trails off when Boyd moves to look at him. "But exceptions to policy can be made and I think that we can process this without any problems."

Boyd only raises his eyebrow and waits with less patience every second.

"I'll have the imprint destroyed," Topher says, looking over to where the chair was releasing Echo.

Boyd steps over without any prompting at all, by Echo's side and only a few inches away from touching her hand as she looks around the room with a small measure of confusion.

"Did I fall asleep?" Echo asks, her voice rough. She seems more disoriented than usual and not very interested in getting out of the chair.

"For a little while," Boyd responds neutrally.

Echo's gaze falls on Topher and stays there for several moments before she turns back to Boyd. "Shall I go now?"

"If you like," Boyd breaks away from Echo and stays by her side as she slides out from the chair and walks out of the room.

Topher pulls the wedge from the chair and holds it in his hands for a few minutes. Part of him is curious what it contains, but working for Rossum is steadily removing most of his curiosity. When he looks at things, looks for things because he wanted to know, most of the time he finds out that he really didn't want to know after all. He sometimes thinks that the chair is one of the most incredible things he's made because if a person has seen and heard too many things, there's always the possibility that it can all go away.

He walks to the window and watches as Echo goes down the stairs, Boyd guiding her over to Doctor Saunder's office. Echo has her arms wrapped around her chest and doesn't have quiet the same serenity that actives seem to achieve effortlessly. Her eyes are still seeking things out, her body is tense and movements careful. He'd check the wipe status to be sure he'd gotten everything if he wasn't already sure that he had. The wipes were thorough, as thorough as possible. Wiping Echo from herself, however, was starting to look like another matter entirely.

This is something he's been noticing, and not just with Echo, Sierra, and Victor: the actives that get in the chair before they go on an engagement are not the actives that get out of the chair post wipe. There's nothing on the brain scans that say they shouldn't be exactly who they were before. There's nothing being left behind from the imprint. Nothing should be different.

More and more, Topher is starting to wonder about the power of all the stray thoughts that might happen during the course of an engagement, or even while the active is in the dollhouse, where their thoughts shouldn't be anything more complex than 'bananas are nice'. But the more he saw actives come in for repeat imprints, especially the actives like Echo who were being requested frequently, the more he began to question whether or not his machines simply weren't sensitive enough to see everything that needed to be seen. It seemed to be a rule that the human mind is always a step more complex than was originally seen, and then a step beyond that as well. Each time a question was answered, three more popped up to take its place, a veritable Hydra of science.

Holding the wedge, Topher walks back into the main lab and plugs it in, setting it to erase and reformat the wedge without opening any of the information. He doesn't look up again until it finishes. On his way back to where they kept spare wedges, Topher stops at the window again and watches the closed door of Doctor Saunder's office. He can see people moving inside through the screen, knows that it's Echo back there. Without thinking much about it, Topher steps over to where they keep all of the electronic waste that Rossum picks up to destroy and drops the wedge in. Somehow, even though the wedge is now blank, it doesn't seem right to keep it around when he's told Boyd that he'll destroy it. Maybe there's some ghost of Echo on there, or a ghost of what Echo had been for that day. Either way, Topher realizes that he doesn't want it hanging around his lab, not when he has Echo poking around the place.

*****

Topher's never been one much for daydreaming, or at least not daydreaming as he's come to understand the way other people do it. For him it's always been about problem solving and learning and solutions; the things he'll invent, or finding a new way to look at something. Most of his sleepless nights in adolescence had been spent laying with his eyes wide open in the dark of his room with his hands tracing out his plans in the air in front of him. The porch light from the neighbor across the street had been particularly bright, not bright enough for him to read or write by, but bright enough that he could focus his eyes on the patterns on the ceiling and see things.

His room at the dollhouse, not even really an official room, just a little space where he had a mattress and scattered bits of tech he worked on in his 'down time', was almost completely dark except for the glow from the few little machines that were either plugged into a power source or running off of batteries. It wasn't enough to see anything by, so he sprawls out on his back on the mattress, his blanket tangled somewhere around his ankles, as he tries to will his mind to power down enough to sleep.

He isn't sure how long he'd been awake this time, or how Boyd figured out where his little room was. Topher had always thought the only person who knew was Adelle. But Boyd had adapted to the dollhouse faster than almost anyone Topher had ever seen; adapted and started searching for more, never taking anything at face value. Topher wants to tell Boyd that it's going to get him killed, if he keeps looking around like that, but he figures that Boyd already knows that. There have been a few times when Boyd would have gotten caught, or maybe should have gotten caught, being somewhere he shouldn't have access to if Topher hadn't been keeping a half-eye on things and altering the security footage. Topher figures that Boyd knows this too, so when Boyd came up into the lab and steadily walked Topher back to his room, Topher didn't put up a fuss.

But now, Topher is left there, waiting for sleep to come, and he really does want it. Sleep has always been elusive, Topher going and going until he doesn't even realize he's at the tipping point. And then the crash, when everything suddenly speeds up, his thinking and his hands, and he doesn't even realize that nothing makes sense anymore until someone nabs him and forces him to step away. He once spent three days working on something that he was sure was going to be revolutionary, only when he woke up after sleeping for sixteen hours, it was a seemingly random sequence of numbers and equations. He spent another week trying to figure it out, get that spark back that had been so important at the time, before he boxed up all the notes and shelved them. Maybe they actually meant something, but after four or five more attempts over the years, Topher is pretty sure it was just gibberish that had tumbled out uninhibited.

Topher takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, just like all the mediation people have said dozens of times. It doesn't work, not really, but it helps to remind Topher that he's aiming for shut down and not for working himself up with that string of equations that he has memorized by now. Forcing his mind away from his work is pretty much impossible, his work is the only life he has, the dollhouse such a part of him that he never managed to get an apartment or a house away from there. In some ways, he is the dollhouse; the mainframe and the essence all locked up in his head just waiting to be unlocked.

So, instead of making himself try to count sheep, which never worked because he always wound up trying to make fibonacci sheep, he let his mind wander down to the sleeping pods. He imagines Echo, laying flat out in hers, possibly awake like himself and staring in the darkness. Sierra is only a pod over. Topher's seen how she sleeps, curled up on her side with her knees drawn up and her head tucked down. He always thinks how it's just like her, just like Sierra, which shouldn't be possible because Sierra shouldn't be anything. She shouldn't have enough personality to have a way of sleeping that makes sense. Victor also sleeps on his side, but with his long limbs stretched out and his back straight instead of curling in on himself.

For these brief moments of thinking about the actives, these actives that he's attached himself too if only in his own mind, Topher feels his body relax another step and his eyes make that fluttering motion that means he's almost there. Forcing himself to not think about falling asleep, because that's a surefire way to wake himself back up again, Topher allows the thought - the fantasy - to go a step further. He builds up the walls of the sleeping pod around him, the smooth surfaces and the film of glass resting above and enclosing him in. It's too dark to see, but he can almost feel the walls there, surrounding him and keeping him safe. The knowledge that Echo is to his left, Victor to his right, and Sierra just by Echo is comforting; he can picture them as easily as if he could open his eyes and see them. Topher rolls slightly to his left side, and Echo is only a few feet away safe in her own pod. Topher doesn't know his own name, doesn't know what his name would be, but it isn't really important. He falls asleep this way, a brief notion of _want_ running through his whole being just before he drops off all the way.

*****

Topher starts spending more time down in the dollhouse itself. He hadn't ventured down there much after the first set of actives had gone completely awry, after he insisted that they remodel it into the day spa-esque environment that now fills the lower levels. He isn't really comfortable with the actives, not when he's outside of his lab at least, but then he's never really been comfortable with much social contact with anyone. He gets that he's not like other people, that he doesn't seem to have those built in social filters that everyone else seems to be born with; Topher still hasn't found those despite how thoroughly he's gone through all the code during programming new personalities. The actives though, they don't seem to care that he doesn't have all the right social cues and responses. They're just as incomplete as he is.

He only is down there for a few hours before Adelle calls him up to her office. They make small talk for a few minutes, or rather, Adelle talks at him and Topher nods occasionally until she gets to the point. He explains that he's doing observations, keeping detailed logs on interactions between actives, trying to stop a problem before it begins. Adelle asks what the problem is exactly, in that proper British tone that means she's not in the mood for games of any sort. It also means that Rossum is after her again, demanding she meet some new impossible task. He'll hack into her email later to see what it is exactly they want, see if he can help her somehow. She's the closest thing Topher has to a friend, if he's not counting the actives. And he shouldn't, count them, because they didn't even have a concept of self, let alone the ability to be friends with someone. Or, they shouldn't.

So Topher tells her that he's noticed trends of behavior with some of the actives and wants to make sure that it isn't going to be a problem, that it's not a symptom of something larger to come. He stops short of invoking Alpha's name, and he sees the moment where Adelle's expression relaxes and he knows that he's won. He stays and lets her give the instruction for him to keep an eye on the actives and do whatever testing is necessary: he's learned it upsets people less when he lets them speak, even when he already knows what their decision is.

The next few days he spends integrating himself down into the main floor of the dollhouse and the handlers and other assistants ignore him well enough, though Topher notices Boyd pausing at the railing a moment longer when he spots Topher down on one of the couches. The actives move around him at first, like they aren't sure he's real when he's not in the lab; once or twice Topher has had to ask himself the same question. The forth day, Echo wanders over and kneels next to him, asking him nonsensical questions and tipping her head when Topher responds with the same lackadaisical rhythm. The words don't make any sense but it doesn't matter; Echo has the same sense of absolute literality as the rest of the actives and seems to take the gesture for what it is.

After a week has passed, when Topher settles down onto the end of the same couch, Sierra and Victor walk over and sit down near Topher. After a few minutes, Victor introduces them, explaining that Sierra is his friend. Sierra smiles and she and Victor look at each other for a long moment, seemingly lost in each other. Topher is vaguely unsettled by this proclamation, and more unsettled by the connection that Victor and Sierra seem to have formed. He knows he has recent scans of both of them and vows to go over them yet again. There has to be something that he's not seeing that is giving them the sense of permanent identity in order for them to have bonded like this.

Echo joins their little group and Topher sees up close and personal how Echo disbands the group with just a gentle touch on the inside of Victor's arm and a glance to Sierra. Victor and Sierra get up and smoothly walk in opposite directions, Victor inserting himself into one of the Tai Chi groups and Sierra kneeling down at one of the art stations. Echo remains standing, staring at Topher like he's a puzzle or a riddle. Topher stares back, equally puzzled at how this is even happening. They meet each others eyes and Topher feels his mind fall blissfully still. It's like a dam has been suddenly dropped into place and the only thing he can hear is the rush of his heartbeat and the only thing he can focus on is the dilated pupils of Echo's eyes.

She blinks, purposefully closing her eyes and staying that way for a brief moment, breaking the connection and sound and movement swarm Topher again. He clenches his hands just above his knees and takes a few steadily breaths as Echo's eyes remain fixated on him.

"You should go back to your lab. You'll be seen," Echo says, her voice so quiet that Topher isn't sure he actually heard it.

"They already know I'm here," Topher replies, making sure he's not moving anything but his lips. A flicker of his eyes confirms what he already knows; Echo is standing just so she's blocking the security camera from seeing his face. She's standing there on purpose, because now that Topher lets himself see it, she's been doing that for Sierra and Victor for months.

"They know you're here, but they don't know what you're doing here," Echo says, shifting ever so slightly to do a discreet surveillance of the area around them.

"What am I doing here?" Topher asks, realizing that he doesn't even know.

Echo doesn't answer, she merely stands and waits until Topher gets to his feet and walks back up the staircase. At the door to his lab, Topher glances back and sees that she's still there, watching him with the same intensity that he used to stand at the window and watch her.

Topher opens the door and goes through, ignoring the curious question from where Ivy is sitting at a computer working on whatever imprint has been requested, and going straight to where he has a backup of Echo's scans and imprints. He gathers two laptops and sets them on his desk by his main computer, everything a flurry of motion as his body tries to keep up with the deluge of possibilities floods his mind.

Two days later, when he's imprinting Echo for an engagement, he watches her as she steps out of the chair, supposedly a new person entirely. When she looks back, her eyes meeting his for that single second, Topher knows for certain that that isn't true anymore, and wonders if it has ever been true.

*****

The idea comes to him in the middle of the indefinable time between morning and night. It's not early enough enough to be properly called morning, not that the day and night light cycle really has any effect on Topher when he hasn't been out of the lower levels of the Dollhouse for months, maybe even more than a year. He isn't sure anymore. But it's too early to be night, any thoughts of going to sleep long since past. He's lying on the floor of the lab, the hum of computers surrounding him and it's not really different than his little space behind the servers, but it's different enough to keep his eyes open and his ears sharp.

Echo has already come and gone, completed her routine of moving from space to space in the lab without comment. Topher has told her how everything works and only recently has become pretty sure that she understands more than anyone but Ivy or the programmers in other Dollhouses. He would question the wisdom of telling her all of that, sometimes delving beyond the pure mechanics of the procedure and telling her about the first set of actives or in the most vaguest of terms about Alpha, but there's hardly any use in questioning it when the damage is long past done. It had felt relieving to have someone else know, even if all Echo could do was know. He doubted she had the words to express what he'd told her, and that was a relief as well.

Echo has allowed Topher to see part of the allure of actives, as they were the ultimate confidantes and secret keepers if you were the one in control of the memories. He has brief thoughts of adapting the machines to be able to look at the imprints after they'd been extracted for actual information that the active had learned. With enough processing of the active's subconscious, they would be able to learn all sorts of things about their clients. It's proof that Topher has learned something from working for Rossum in that he isn't sitting at one of his computers trying to implement the idea. Rossum already knows so much and is on the tipping point of stumbling into a whole new way of knowing and retrieving information. He's already given them the key and drawn a map to the door, he isn't going to stick the key in the lock and turn it for them too.

Topher's head is tipped back and his eyes find the crease where the wall meets the ceiling, and that brief chance gesture is what triggers the idea. It's nothing more than a passing thought at first, so similar to his daydreams of being down near the actives that he almost dismisses it completely. But the thought is there and Topher finds his mind dragged back to it over and over even when he tries to wander back to the theoretical work on how subconscious perception could be extracted and made into meaningful data. _This is what an active sees when they lay down in the chair, the last thing they see before they're imprinted._

He spends a few minutes imagining being in the chair itself, the firm supports against his back and arms and slowly leaning back until his head was nestled right in the device itself. He had built that part of the device in a three day moment of madness, all the pieces coming together without the benefit of designs or blueprints, or trial runs, or any of the other steps that were supposed to come with making something that would effect millions of lives. It had been said, by someone who Topher couldn't even identify, that part of being a genius was going from step A to step E without hitting steps B, C, and D in between. Topher wasn't sure this was accurate, and if he had a chance to respond he would suggest that a genius merely went through steps B, C, and D so quickly that no one ever saw them there. Then again, he kind of just likes the idea of moving so fast that he couldn't be seen; if he had to pick just one superpower, he thinks that would be it.

Even though he was pretty sure he was a genius, by the conventional definition at least, he sometimes wondered if the device and the chair should have been beyond his abilities to simply create like that. There was a small voice somewhere in his mind that reminded himself that it was possible he wasn't the first person who had learned how to imprint, and maybe someone had learned to slip in ideas and plans without a complete imprint. It was something he'd been toying with for nearly a year without much success; he still had to have someone be an active if he wanted to imprint any information at all. The closest he'd come to the idea was pulling someone's original personality and simply adding in the thought or idea, which was very similar to what they did when out-processing actives back into the 'real world'.

The idea of being the subject of the chair, the one that he had built, is both thrilling and sobering. He had often thought of his work as an extension of himself and it would almost be taking it to a natural conclusion. He stays there on the floor, frozen in place with his eyes still fixed on where the wall met the ceiling. His mind takes in the pros and cons almost more quickly than they become conscious thoughts, only lingering briefly on whether or not it's even possible because of course it's possible. If he can invent the chair in the first place setting it up to work automatically isn't a problem. He had never previously considered letting the chair work by itself without being there to monitor the situation but that wasn't really an option this time. He can already see the adjustments he'd have to make to the chair's programming, as well as the instructions he'd need to leave in order for Ivy to fix it once he was gone. It's only then with a rush of shock that he realizes that he's already mentally included the programming that would automatically erase his personality so they couldn't simply imprint him back into his body.

Topher moves so that he's sitting up, cross-legged on the floor as he gives the idea serious consideration. It's more than he usually does; whether or not something is a good idea has always been secondary to whether or not he can actually do something, but the sheer level of self destruction and the irreversibility of the procedure seem to be enough that he has to stop and consider if it's something he actually wants to do or not. He stays on the floor, his thoughts feeling almost molasses slow, until Ivy comes in and turns on the lights. The rest of the day he spends at the window of the lab, only leaving to do a memory wipe on an active returning to the Dollhouse.

*****

Once the idea has come to a fully conscious thought, Topher can't stop thinking about it. It's like a switch has been flipped and he isn't even really sure that he wants to try and turn it off. Topher sits at his computer with the screen turned off and his headphones placed over his ears with no music on. No one bothers him when he's sitting like this, when he's 'working', so he has plenty of time to go over the schematics of the modifications he'll have to make. If he's ever going to make them, he's only going to have one opportunity and it will have to be done quickly. Since it's just how he made the chair, he's not really concerned about the rest of it coming together without any trial runs or experiments.

Even though he's still phrasing it as an _if_ the process has already become a _when_. There's still a decision to be made, a moment where he says to himself: 'Yes, I'm going to do this', but he knows himself well enough that he's fairly certain the decision had been made long ago. Maybe it had already been made when he first built the chair, or even before that; with Rossum in the picture it's almost impossible to tell what their long terms plans originally were. Topher doesn't think so though; he likes to believe that he's still important and still useful. That he can still make the innovations that Rossum requires even if he won't anymore. Maybe Rossum knew that too, that Topher would eventually grow the beginnings of a conscience or a sliver of morality.

He avoids the Dollhouse now, avoids the actives and lets Ivy take over programming all but the most important of the imprints. She can imprint and wipe actives now without any trouble and Topher realizes belated that he's teaching her everything she needs to know to take his place. It's almost judgmental how he assesses her and decides that she doesn't have whatever mental agility is required to make advancements for Rossum. She can do the job, maybe make a few improvements in the process, but she won't be a party to making things worse and likely won't go looking for trouble either. In the end, everyone is doomed, but at least she'll be as safe as anyone is in the interim.

After a few weeks he starts to gather the components he needs to make the adjustments. He takes parts from areas that have been recently inventoried, dismantles a few older prototypes that won't be missed any time soon, and requisitions only what he absolutely needs and can't get any other way. He keeps a closer eye on the Rossum feeds than he usually does, making sure that the LA house hasn't raised any flags recently that would lead to interference from Rossum. There has only been once when he's deleted information from the Rossum servers, only once when the benefit has outweighed the risk. Echo had caught the attention of a Rossum spy and there had been a single transmission sent requesting further information about her original personality. It had taken Topher seven hours to go through the system and erase the request completely, sending back carefully forged information about Echo's initial wipe. He wasn't sure that he'd gotten it all, not sure by a long shot, and even more uncertain that the eyes watching the feeds hadn't seen the information slipping away. It was a huge risk for just one active, but by then Topher had seen firsthand that Echo was not just an active and that if Rossum got more of her than they already did and learned from her, the end would be on them faster than even his most dire predictions.

He'd let Adelle know there was a pair of eyes watching their engagements who had taken interest in Echo, and she took care of the rest. Adelle was good like that. Topher had decided if there had even been anyone he could slip information about Rossum to and know it would wind up in the right place, it was Adelle. Topher traces his hands over the package that Adelle had delivered herself, containing the rest of what he would need to finish the project. It was a special wedge, one that he could finish modifying so that it would never even record the data from his initial wipe, which was far safer than setting up a wedge to delete and self destruct. He'd done data recovery enough times on things that were said to be destroyed to know that if he left any trace of himself behind, Rossum would have him at his most vulnerable.

Adelle had clasped her hand on Topher's shoulder before she'd wandered out of the lab. Her serene expression had never faltered, not through any of what they'd seen and done, and Topher thought maybe that was what connected them more than anything else. Rossum may have been directing the show, but they had learned their lines and played their parts without so much as batting an eye.

After Ivy leaves for the night, and for the first time Topher wonders where she goes and if her apartment looks like the one he'd lived in as a graduate student, Topher gathers all of the parts he needs and goes into the room with the chair. He hasn't made any designs on paper, hasn't used any references; the manual on how the chair works, beyond the basic blueprints which had been Rossum property as soon as Topher had taken the time to sketch them out, is in his mind. And he's about to wipe all of that knowledge from existence.

*****

Now

He wakes in a room, in a chair, resting with his head heavy against a padded support that cradles his neck. He stares directly ahead for a long moment, his eyes running along where the wall rises up to meet the ceiling. It's familiar somehow, maybe even important, but he can't recall why or even where he's seen it before. The chair rises up automatically, but he remains sitting. He waits; there's nowhere he has to be, and he knows of nowhere to go even if he did have to go somewhere.

After some time has gone by, he's not sure how much time or how it moves, but there's a space where nothing happens and a space where a woman enters the room and stops suddenly.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asks. He doesn't know how he knows he's supposed to say the words, but he knows he has to say them.

"Topher?" the woman asks. She's still standing across the room, her eyes wide and frightened, one of her hands rising up and tangling in her hair.

He doesn't know what this means, what a 'Topher' is. "Did I fall asleep?" he asks again, waiting for the response that he needs.

The woman runs from the room and he's left alone again. He remains in the chair, tipping his head back again to look up at that line, the place where it's not a wall, nor a ceiling. It's important, somehow.

The woman returns with a man and another woman. The second woman's eyes open wide just like the first, the man with no expression that he can see at all. He tries again, looking at the second woman. Maybe she will have the correct response. "Did I fall asleep?"

The second woman takes a few steps towards him, taking a few breaths and standing next to the chair. She closes her eyes, but just before he's about to ask again, she speaks. "For a little while."

His shoulders relax and he finds that he can breathe a little easier now. She knows the responses. "Shall I go now?" he asks as he focuses on her.

She pauses again but she opens her eyes and looks down at him. Her hand hovers above where his is resting on the armrest, but she doesn't touch him. "If you like," she replies.

He's almost certain that he can see something, that he knows this woman, but the response releases him and he slides out of the chair and stands. He walks by the man and the first woman without stopping to look at them, and goes down the stairs. There are others, all moving placidly through the room.

He walks to a nearby area, the floor smooth under his bare feet. Another woman turns and stares at him, her head tipped to the side as her lips fall open. He waits, identifying the emotion he's feeling as hope, and maybe slight apprehension. The woman nods, her long dark hair falling forward over her shoulder, and she turns away. He smiles because he knows her, maybe, and she knows him. And they know everything.

The End


End file.
